“Thank you, Downing,” she said in her most authoritative voice. “I can speak to these gentlemen.”
The butler’s furry gray eyebrows shot up. “Miss Fletcher?”
She pinned him with hard eyes. She knew her place. Had grown up understanding the gravity of who her father was. Understanding her place in the world. She knew that if she asked the butler to leave, he had no choice but to obey.
After a moment, Downing gave a short nod. “As you wish, Miss.”
“Thank you,” Harriet said brusquely. Her heart was pounding with exhilaration. She turned to face the visitors. “How can I help you?” She lifted her chin and pressed her shoulders back. She knew with her uncombed hair and bare feet she did not look all the way one expected a Marquess’s daughter to look. But what did that matter?
The two men eyed each other. Then one nodded to the other to continue. “We are seeking information on a missing young lady. We believe she has been in this part of the city. Seeking work, perhaps. I wonder if you might have seen her?” He held out the small portrait.
And the thumping in Harriet’s chest grew a hundred times faster.
Looking back at her was the angelic face of Molly Cooper. She was dressed as a lady, in a soft pink gown, golden ringlets framing her freckled cheeks.
Harriet stood frozen for a moment, her lips parted and her thoughts racing. When she had sent Downing on his way, she had expected to hear some dashing tale of a runaway servant. A woman who had fled a brutish master and escaped on the seas perhaps. But this… this was far better than anything she could ever have imagined.
She forced herself to keep her face even. “This lady,” she asked, “who is she?”
“Miss Letitia Caddy,” said the man. “Daughter of the Baron of Mullins.”
Daughter of the Baron of Mullins?
Miss Cooper was a lady? Miss Cooper was not Miss Cooper at all…
“Miss?” the man prompted. “Have you seen her?”
What would happen if she were to tell the truth? What if she were to admit to these man that the Baron of Mullins’s daughter was downstairs in their kitchen right now, making magic tea for all the sick people in the household?
Harriet couldn’t be sure. But she felt rather certain it would end with Miss Cooper leaving.
“No,” she said firmly. “I’ve not seen her.”
The man narrowed his eyes a little. “Are you certain?”
“Very certain,” Harriet said sharply. “Good day then.” She began to swing the door closed. “I wish you luck with your search.”
* * *
Letitia brought the tray of teacups back into the kitchen. Her lemon tea had become something of a sensation among the invalids in the downstairs quarters. She was glad to be able to help. But as she dumped the cups on the bench, she let out her breath wearily. She had not even started on the Marquess’s supper. Had not given any thought to what she might prepare.
I had best focus, or else the entire household will be eating gruel tonight.
She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so exhausted. What would have happened if she had left the manor as she had planned? How would the household have gotten by?
Despite her exhaustion, and her anxiety, and the knowledge that the suppers she was serving bordered on inedible, Letitia felt a small smile in the corner of her lips. She felt useful. Important.
She felt needed in a way she had never been before.
Molly Cooper was vital to the running of the Marquess’s household. Letitia Caddy’s only role had been to sit back and let herself be married to the highest bidder.
She looked up as Harriet padded into the kitchen.
“What are you doing out of bed?” she demanded, her voice faintly scolding. She looked down at Harriet’s bare feet. “And with no shoes on, indeed! You’re not well!”
Harriet wound a strand of hair around her finger. “I’m hungry.”
“All right.” Letitia’s voice softened. “Are you feeling a little better then?”
Harriet nodded. “Much better,” she said with a curious smile. “So much better than I ever thought.”
Letitia frowned.
What is she playing at?
She pressed a palm to Harriet’s forehead. It was still warm. Too warm.
“Go back to bed,” she said firmly. “You still have a fever. I’ll bring you a little food.”
Harriet stayed planted in the doorway, her head tilted, and a tiny smile in the corner of her lips. Letitia could feel her eyes on her, taking her in.
“What is it?” she asked. Harriet was definitely behaving odder than usual. Perhaps she had just been spending too much time in bed. Perhaps the fever was making her delirious.
Harriet shook her head dismissively. “Nothing. Nothing at all, Miss Cooper.”
Letitia frowned. Then she shook her concern away. Harriet was just being her cheeky self. She was glad to see a little of her spirit returning. “Upstairs,” she said firmly. “Back to bed.”
And with an obedient smile, Harriet turned and was gone.
Letitia pushed aside the teacups and hung the soup kettle over the range. There was a little of the cabbage soup left from last night’s supper. It would do well for Harriet as she began to regain her strength. Letitia cut off a slice of bread and sat it on a tray with the soup bowl, carefully carrying the meal up to Harriet’s room.
The door to the Marquess’s office was open, she noticed. She knew it meant he was out of the house. Was he liaising with clients, she found herself wondering, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
She had no thought of why her father’s footmen had not appeared at the house yet. It had been more than a day since she had seen them on her way home from the market. Perhaps they had continued their search in the opposite direction. Or perhaps they had been here. Perhaps Molly Cooper, with her threadbare gray dress and limp, smoke scented hair, looked different enough from primped and ringleted Letitia Caddy that the Marquess’s butler had simply sent the men on their way.
Whatever the reason, she was endlessly grateful. Perhaps her secret would remain safe. Perhaps she might manage to remain here at the Radcliffe manor a little while longer.
When she made her way into Harriet’s bedchamber, the patient had returned to bed. She had pulled her covers up to her chin and was watching Letitia closely as she delivered the tray of soup to the bedside table.
Harriet took the soup bowl with a smile of thanks. “Will you stay a while?” she asked.
Letitia hesitated, thinking of the chaos of cups and half-filled soup pots in the kitchen. But she found herself saying, “Yes, of course.”
Harriet Fletcher, she was coming to see, was a difficult young lady to say no to.
Harriet spooned the soup into her mouth. “Miss Cooper,” she said, “if you were to run away, where would you go?”
Letitia frowned. “I thought you were done with all this talk of running away, Harriet. Have you forgotten those men at the market?”
“Of course not. I promised Papa I’d never run away again. I was just wondering what it would be like to really escape. Like the princess who ran away and met the pirate king.”
Letitia smiled. “Well,” she said, “the thing is, the princess who ran away and met the pirate king only existed in a story book. The real world is rather different.”
Harriet’s spoon clinked against the edge of the bowl. “So if you were to run away in the real world, you don’t think you would find a happy ending?”
Her words brought a strange tug to Letitia’s chest. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice coming out softer than she had hoped. “I would like to think it’s possible.”
* * *
With the soup bowl emptied and Harriet asleep again, Letitia grabbed the tray and hurried out into the hall. She had stayed with Harriet far longer than she had intended. It had grown dark an hour ago and still she was yet to begin the evening meal. If she hurried, perhaps she c
ould get a few scraps of supper on the Marquess’s table some time before midnight.
As she made her way down the main staircase, she caught sight of Lord Radcliffe striding through the entrance hall.
Letitia was too frantic to acknowledge the frisson of longing that shot through her at the sight of him. “Good evening, My Lord,” she said, bobbing her head as she hurried past.
Lord Radcliffe’s hand shot out and grabbed her arm. “Miss Cooper. Stop.”
She did. She felt her body sink wearily at the touch of his hand.
He frowned. “You look exhausted,” he said gently. “I’m sorry you’ve had such a difficult few days.”
Letitia swallowed. Managed a small smile.
“How is Harriet?” he asked.
“Improving,” Letitia told him. “Her appetite is beginning to return.”
Lord Radcliffe smiled. “I’m very glad to hear it. And the staff?”
“Margaret hopes to return to work tomorrow,” Letitia reported. “I must say I’ll be rather glad of it.” She looked at her feet. “I’m sorry, My Lord, I’ve fallen behind. I’m afraid I’m yet to get your supper started. I ought to get back…”
“There’s no need for that,” said Lord Radcliffe. He held out the wrapped brown package he had been carrying beneath his arm. “I’ve brought some bread and cheese back from the market. And a little roast ham.”
Letitia raised her eyebrows. “You went to the market?”
Lord Radcliffe chuckled. “I am capable of such a thing. Even though I might not look it.”
Letitia’s cheeks reddened. “I’m sorry, My Lord. That was my duty. You ought not—”
He put a hand to her shoulder, silencing her. “Don’t be foolish. You’ve worked harder than anyone I’ve ever known these past few days. I think I can manage a simple trip to the market.” He smiled. “I’ll take these to the table. Perhaps you might fetch us some plates and cutlery?”
Us?
Letitia swallowed. “You want me to eat with you, My Lord?” she asked shyly. Immediately, she regretted her words. She had misinterpreted, surely. Had made an enormous fool of herself.
But Lord Radcliffe said, “I assume you’ve not eaten?”
“No, My Lord.”
“Then please,” he said. “Join me. You need to eat. Relax a little.”
Letitia hesitated. There were so many reasons why she ought not do such a thing. But her stomach was grumbling and the thought of a little cheese and bread sounded divine.
Especially if I might be sharing it with Lord Radcliffe…
She managed a small nod. “I’ll fetch the plates.”
Letitia took Harriet’s soup tray back down to the kitchen. Her heart was speeding. It was just supper, she reminded herself. Nothing more sinister.
No, it was not just supper. It was supper taken in Lord Radcliffe’s dining room. They would sit opposite each other and their eyes would meet and Letitia would feel that heat pulsing inside her she always felt when he walked into the room. And there would be no escaping it. The thought left her breathless with anticipation.
She filled the kettle and sat it on the range. She had always found tea to be steadying. And she had the feeling that she was going to need rather a lot of steadying.
Finally, she carried the tea tray and plates carefully up to the dining room. Sat them on the table.
“Would you like a little tea?” she asked shyly.
Lord Radcliffe was on his feet, rummaging through the cabinet in the corner of the room. He looked over his shoulder at her and grinned. “You have tea if you wish. Personally, I feel the need for something a little stronger.” He pulled a bottle of wine from the cupboard. “Would you like a glass?”
Letitia hesitated. A mouthful of wine sounded like the most heavenly thing in the world. A little alcohol to relax the tension in her shoulders, to soothe the ache in her feet. But a little alcohol, Letitia suspected, would also loosen her tongue. And that could be a dangerous thing indeed.
Lord Radcliffe uncorked the bottle. “If it’s propriety that concerns you, please don’t think of it. We’re living in rather a state of chaos at present, are we not? I think under such circumstances we might dispense with the appropriate etiquette for a time, don’t you think?”
Letitia smiled. “Perhaps you’re right.”
She watched as Lord Radcliffe filled two glasses and handed one to her. She took a tiny mouthful. The wine was good, spicy and smooth. Immediately, she felt herself relax.
Everything was all right, she told herself. The staff were recovering and her father’s footmen had not shown themselves at the manor. She could allow herself just one glass of wine, surely. Could allow herself that without toppling everything she had built.
She began to slice the crusty bread Lord Radcliffe had bought, along with the cheese and ham. She filled their plates and handed one to him.
“Thank you,” he said. “It looks wonderful.”
How odd, she thought, that the Marquess might be so content with such a simple meal.
No odder than him sitting here with a baron’s daughter in hiding…
She wanted to tell him the truth, Letitia realized suddenly. Wanted desperately, fervently, to tell him who she really was. She hated having to lie to him. Hated having to lie to Harriet. Each time she cobbled together another untruth, it made something sink inside her.
Perhaps Lord Radcliffe would not be angry. Perhaps he would understand.
No. The Marquess conducted business with both her father and the Duke of Banfield. He was a part of the world in which they operated. A world in which a lady was sold in order to pay off a man’s debts. She felt certain Lord Radcliffe would never do such a thing — he had clearly loved his wife very much — but if he were to hear her story, he would likely understand the Duke’s position.
And her father’s.
Letitia took a hurried bite of bread. At least with food in her mouth, she wouldn’t find herself blurting out things she shouldn’t.
“Harriet seemed to enjoy the sideshow,” she said finally.
Lord Radcliffe smiled. “Yes. She did. Very much. As did I. I seem to be only just remembering how to have fun.” He popped a piece of cheese into his mouth, then began to regale her with tales of the sideshow attractions.
Letitia smiled. “I went to the sideshow once,” she told him. “When I was a child.”
This was a safe topic of conversation wasn’t it? Surely it was feasible that Molly Cooper might have seen such a thing as a girl.
“Oh yes? Here in London?”
Lord Radcliffe knew not a thing about her, she realized sickly. Did not know where she had been born, or where she had lived. This gentleman who made her heart speed, who made her feel things she had never felt before, had no thought of who she truly was. She had seen the attraction in his eyes. But was it her he cared about? Or was it this make-believe woman she had turned herself into? If the lies were to fall away, would Lord Radcliffe still look at her with such warmth and affection? She doubted it.
“Yes,” she managed, her voice low. “In London. With my father.”
These were truths, at least. Tiny truths, but truths nonetheless.
And tiny truths are all you can allow yourself, Letitia. Don’t forget how close your father’s footmen came to finding you. Don’t forget how close you were to losing all this.
Lord Radcliffe bent his head to catch her eye. He could see the anguish in her face, surely.
“You miss your father,” he guessed.
Letitia swallowed heavily. “Yes,” she admitted. “Very much.”
“Has he passed?” Lord Radcliffe asked gently.
Letitia said nothing. She could manage no more lies. Especially not about her father. She owed Lord Radcliffe far more than that. Perhaps she owed her father more too. After all, her betrothal had not been his doing. It had all been at the whim of the Duke of Banfield.
She stood hurriedly. “I’d best go,” she said, forcing away the sudden swell
of tears in her throat. “I’ve the kitchen to clean. Margaret will have a fit if she returns to work tomorrow morning and finds it in a state.”
* * *
Two hours later, Letitia trudged upstairs to bed. The house was dark and quiet. She had barely closed her eyes when a bell cut through her thoughts. She sat abruptly. The bell rang again immediately.
Letitia could tell it was coming from Harriet’s room. Hurriedly, she pulled her blue shawl over her shoulders and made her way downstairs.
Devilish Games of a Virtuous Lady: A Steamy Regency Romance Page 13
